


dead, dead, dead

by centipedepals



Series: wilted [1]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: "emotional", Angst, Body Horror, F/M, Fantasizing, Gore, Gross, M/M, Sexual Themes, Violent Fantasies, e d g e, emo shit, i think dice is in there too somewhere, it's never ogre, it's one-sided, kaede is there too, kill me dude, lower case intentional, nae nae, self harm (mention), suicide (mention), takes place after chapter one i think, yea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 03:15:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14227938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/centipedepals/pseuds/centipedepals
Summary: she's dead. dead, dead, dead, yet, that doesn't stop you from loving her.lower-case intentional, drv3 spoiler warning !!





	dead, dead, dead

**Author's Note:**

> explicit warning marked for; sexual references/implications, gore/graphic fantasies, pain-play, body horror, self-harm (implied), suicide mentions (referenced) !! please be careful !

_sick_. sick, sick, sick. the way you talk of her is sick. it makes me sick. makes my stomach wrench with a burning, envious hatred at the very idea of  _her_. the way your cheeks give out a faint blush as you speak fondly of your irreplaceable memories, practically swooning over her matted blonde curls and raspy gentle voice. 

"i love her, i'd do  _anything_ to get her back." you'd speak stuttering affection lingering in your tone, cheeks flushing as you gawk over her every feature. you give me your spiel on how much you loved her, like my feelings for you had gone unnoticed. as if you were unaware of how even the mere mention of her slowly twists my insides, churning them until my organs are nothing but chunks of sludge. 

she's  _gone_. gone, gone, gone. the second of us all to be taken, the first to be killed before our eyes. i replay the scene in my head, over and over. the way your body convulsed as you watched her struggle, grasping at the rope that slung around her neck that only seemed to grow tighter the more she struggled. her face, a watercolor palette of faint reds, blues, purples, and blue-tinted greens. your face, a dry river slowly beginning to run after a cold, dry winter had ended. screams endlessly fell from her lips, with constants pleads of useless 'sorry's and 'forgive me's and 'i didn't mean to's, as if bawling could save her from the fate that was destined to hit her. her name left on your lips, repeating it as if you had never heard it before. you couldn't do a thing to save her, and all she could do was watch you cry. like squeezing lemon juice onto an open wound, you both knew it was hopeless. 

you cried. cried, and cried, and cried, and cried. as if it actually meant anything. i can hear your voice quiver with an apparent fear each time you must retell her death. her  _execution._ from the very start, she was a goner. a mind so small and feeble, unprepared for her life to be ripped from the grasp of her small, fragile hands. "i just wanted her to know i love her. that's  _all_  that i could ever ask for." you almost plead to a god that isn't there. a god that isn't real. just begging to hold her hand and claim her. 

it  _aches._ aches, aches, aches. a feeling my corrupted body could never rid of. knowing that you could never be mine. knowing my life is near it's expiration date, and you aren't even aware of my feelings. to disguise the throbbing of my heart, i lie. a spider weaving a delicate web, fabricated with dishonest claims and ear-grating laughter. coughing up acidic chunks of lies and pranks and shoving them down your throat in fistfuls. getting sick pleasure at watching you try to gag them down, realizing it's useless and then try to gag them back up and get me to stop.

 i gain an intense amount of pleasure at watching you shake at the loss of control of your own body, struggling to resist the urge to vomit them back up. watching you ask me kindly to stop, but i only take bigger fistfuls, shoving my entire arm down your throat, forcing it down. further and further until there's an audible swallow, and somehow twisting my face into a bittersweet, childish grin all the while. i tease you as your suffer, as if being force-fed the remains of someone else's rotting dignity was intended to be pleasant. i try to make you beg for mercy, knowing even if you did, i would still only laugh, not showing an ounce of empathy. i watch your face grow bitter, shooting me daggers but keeping silent as i agonizingly force myself to gag up more and more lies just to see you choke on them. just so you to see you choke, just to feel my lips curve into a smile at the satisfaction of finally being able to get away with something. 

although to me it's love, do you not feel like i'm toying with you? do you  _like_ it when i toy with you? when i wind you up, forcing your plastic limbs to maneuver you to walk off the edge of a transparent tabletop, repeating in an endless cycle until the metal crank detaches from your back. to you, it might be nothing. sadistic, maybe. getting enjoyment out of your own confusion. unknown to whether it's intentional, or merely a thought that came and went much too quick to be observed. if that's so, i'd raise no objections to the matter. all you'd have to do is ask, if that's what you so desire. a boy too caught up with theories and evidence, enjoyed being pulled around by neck-bounded chains.

 assumption, most likely. just another silly assumption. another embarrassing misreading, just as embarrassing as the last. though, you've yet to notice. maybe i've truly lost it. finally bored of my own mind games, that i've been able to trick myself into participating in. it's a possibility, but the thought itself could just be ironic. convincing myself to reject the truth,  _typical._   though, maybe it's a punishment. a self-inflicted punishment. a sad attempt of a silent, subtle apology. maybe it's i who has yet to notice. a truth in plain sight. or, maybe a lie? perhaps to you, it's worth it. allowing yourself to be the victim of each punchline, knowing that it'll be the death of me. it's logical, noticing the acts you'll perform just to get down to the truth. with obvious improvisation and a script still yet to memorize, you'll be thrown around endlessly, just as long as your guarantee to gain something out of it. maybe it's my death? you were always a people-pleaser. 

 _she didn't make you that way_. that's what i like to tell myself. for just a minute, if even that, it gives me reassurance. a plastic mindset that only exists within me as a temporary lifeline. always rolling the dice even if there's not a sliver chance of scoring a way to avoid a bitter reality that i'll eventually have to face, left without a choice. cornered. finally convicted of my crime. she left us with nothing. a pitiful promise and a chunk of our minds before she left. a scheme, a perfectly sculpted plan that was guaranteed to succeed. all in the name of entertainment, and a motivation that can be understood only through the ones that cared enough to know her.

you can't love her, yet you seem addicted to the feeling. always needing to get your fix by gushing over her appearance. addicted to a girl who's nothing but a  _corpse._ corpse, corpse, corpse. just love me instead. i could give you anything,  _everything_. they say the feeling's forbidden, say that i'm putting myself in an inescapable debt, that'll all pay up once my organs fail. but i'd go through anything just for anything more than a simple hand-touch from you. just like how  _she_  did to you, so mindlessly, so still. 

i'd give you anything you wanted as long as you'd let me break character just to stroke your ego and tell you how much you truly meant to me, just like  _she_  did when you doubted your own abilities. i'd murder anyone you hated if you'd just let me rake my hand through your soft, dark locks, as i traced your smooth facial features with my fingertip. just like  _she_ did, the time you assumed no one was watching. i'd eat myself alive if i could pin you against a wall and memorize the description of your flavor into the crevasses of my mind. just like  _she_  wanted to, but could never find within her. i'd let you choke me until i died in your hands if you'd let me feel your skin, let me claim every inch of you as my own as i give you the love that  _she_ could've never offered up. the love that  _she_ never would've given to you, not even if asked.

   _you._ this horrible, horrible you.your tall, wimpy figure. the way your structure's so lean, fragile. like the finest of china, the ability to break with even the slightest touch. the way your hair swishes with your every movement as it parts into individual fine strands. how it's ravenous color shines, almost sparkling. your lashes, so long and feminine, they flutter each time you blink, catching drops of sunlight as they rest there like the finest of pearls. those eyelashes that trim  _those_ eyes.  _your_ eyes. indescribable. a glistening golden color. i find it much too captivating. a faint hue with a strong hint of grey, glossed with a thick coat of purity. trapping me in a lethal stare each time we dare make eye contact. you keep me prisoner with those eyes, getting lost in them without even thinking. your voice, genuine and soft. even when you speak to me, you speak with such sincerity. even as you gag on my toxicity, even as you struggle to gain composure as i shove my hand deeper and deeper down your cavern, nails scratching bare flesh until thin lines of blood leak with black acidic lies in hand, you still manage to remain in control. never lashing out, never saying a word. keeping whatever anger you might have for me on a deathly tight lease. 

my thoughts merely nothing but you. you taint every corner of my mind as if every last bit of memories i had once were slowly replaced with memories of you. with _fantasies_  of you. with every interaction, every time i keep my eyes locked onto you, my rancid affection just controls me more and more. like an infectious disease latched my mind, slowly killing me. slowly allowing my insides to hollow, my organs to stop, my blood stream to evaporate, everything to be put on pause, not knowing a thing until it's too late,  _until i've already fallen so deep_. melting hands control my body, desperately trying to rid the throbbing heartache that resides inside me.

 my  _flesh._ flesh, flesh, flesh. the only thing that blankets the stab wounds left on my still-beating heart, the stab wounds caused by the thought that i could never claim you.  _not ever._ how flushed my cheeks get whenever you give me the smallest bit of praise. how it leaves goosebumps that spread like rashes imprinted on my flesh whenever you accidentally brush against me. i hate the feeling you give me. i hate it each time i find myself thinking of your perfectly framed face at the most indiscriminate of times. i loath whenever i let myself wander off, maybe considering that-just maybe-you'll tire of her. come running to me, desperate for my affection. i hate it whenever i think that you may care about me, just a little. that you may want me to survive, to walk in to your future and color a world about us for you. to survive together, say that we escaped death in an oath to be future lovers. a foolish corner of my mind i loathe, yet always find myself returning to. desperate just to envision us as more than just mutuals, more than just friends. desperate to even imagine you wanting me. leaving behind the thoughts of her in favor to have me melting in to you. 

all these  _lies._ lies, lies, lies. they make me just as sick as they make you. every time i lie to you, the urge to fall to my knees, crying ugly sorries into my hands gets stronger. each night, having fits of silent bawling that leave my insides hollow, even when i awake from a discordant slumber. the glass of the heart-shaped mirror only so close from being shattered to pieces with a metal bat. swung by me out of scorching rage and an uncontrollable urge to break things. idiotic enough to feel guilty of it later. endlessly weeping over the wounds caused by the broken shards. growing so used to the pain of the cuts that i begin to yearn for it, breaking the glass into fragments so small, so sharp, they work well enough to be raked across my skin in crooked parallel lines. eventually weeping over the beautiful, horrific mess i made, that i just buy another mirror, just to end up to endlessly repeat the process until my death, until you finally reach your hand out and stop my bat in mid-air, allow me to see something else through that heart-shaped mirror. 

whenever my words of affection slip out, even in the subtlest forms, despite my best efforts to lock them away in rusted cages, all i can do is run off  _far_. far, far, far. far enough that i can no longer sense the aura that follows your every track. far enough where your captivating appearance is at too great of a distance to keep me further keep me prisoner. far enough where your voice can no longer coil around me, tie knots that wring around my neck and choke me more and more until i gag up whatever truth you seek out of me. far enough until i forgot what i was even running from, far enough until i temporarily forget you, allowing that disgusting, rancid affection to pause, just for a few moments. it's not like you'd chase after me anyways. it's not like you care enough to tell me to 'stop'. and that's exactly why i ran, that's exactly why i'll continue to run. 

a flawless escape, with every strategic advantage in it's favor. even when i dare make a quick head-turn, all that's seen in a mere expression of confusion and disgust. like two bodies of polar-opposites being melted into one pathetic freak-show of limp limbs. traumatizing anyone who stares for too long. two emotions that don't belonged, forced to join hand-in-hand. animalistic shaking, visible to anyone who could even make out my body in a blur. those hazy silver eyes, staring me down as i run away. like bullet holes in my chest. yet, even when the gun's out of ammo, even when my blood is the only evidence left of my pain, all i have to cover up the holes are band-aids. and so they never heal. your indifference towards me lingers in your tone each time you speak, giving me tear-inducing migraines with an obnoxious throb that never seems to stop. this sick idea of desire towards you is nauseating. 

day after day, the craving i get for your touch pulses stronger, numbing me head to foot. like exposed skin to frost, it's a slow, numbing pain. almost burning.  _almost._ my eyes, glued open at night, unable to put themselves to rest. with thoughts of you, ghostly floating through even the crevasses of my mind. it keeps me up, keeps me breathing, thinking, smiling, wanting, desiring, moaning, breathless, crying, aching, screaming, pleading. all until i pass out from exhaustion, an overwhelming amount of emotions being too much to inhale. yet, no one seems to hear me.  _perhaps they just don't care?_

even when i follow you, mindlessly vomiting lies, i still try to sneak the message through your brain in the subtlest ways. an archer, waiting to hit their target with a flimsy, wooden arrow. a tip laced with a love-sickness potion. and always missing, despite their efforts. when will i get through to you? always being spun in circles by anyone who thinks they can get past the titanium walls of your mind. you want to protect everyone, assure them that they'll live. yet, you still want to hide from the truth. the truth you claim to want to discover. you say that i'm alone, yet i didn't seem to mind. as long as i can have you, then being 'alone' will mean nothing to me. i never feel alone when i sense your presence near me. i never felt alone when you never denied our partnership. i never felt alone when you gently wrapped a bandaged around my hand, securing it from the stab wound. 

i'd stab myself, over and over, ignoring all my body's pain, if you'd aid me like you had. if you'd gently grasp my hand as you give me your look of concern, of worry. for the prankster, for the brat, for the liar, for me. if just for one moment, you would fixate on me. ensured me that everything would be alright. ensure me that we'd make it out together. just once, i'd be able to satisfy my selfishness that has emptied me since the very beginning. just once, being able to feel joyful emotions other than the satisfaction of getting away with things, which is a feeling all to common to even bring me joy anymore. i do it, i do it all for you. a smile being the perfect mask to hide the expression of a love-sick fool. how often i pull the fire alarm, over and over just because you'll acknowledge me. just to see those pretty golden eyes melt into mine for just a few seconds, it's only filling.  _i just want your eyes on me._

i  _want._ want, want, want. i spent my entire life envying things that i never had. love, friends, motivation, the feeling of self-appreciation. cursing my amygdala for it's every decision.  anything others had that i didn't envied me, and all i could do to hide my jealous was to laugh as if i didn't care. i would curse myself for it. just like how i cursed myself for managing to love you. i want you, in every way, to the point were i can't stand it, pushing me to the edge of a cliff unaware i was standing on. and all I could ever want is you. in every way, in every form. it's all selfish desires, but that just makes me want you more. greed consumes each part of me, my immune system too weak to fight of such infection. and so it hurts. hurts even more than the idea of being killed, being trapped. with days passing by so quick, memories fail to do anything but blur together, a foggy grey that's anything but transparent. and although things blur into meaningless nothings, every movement of yours that i could even barely call 'visible' gets imprinted in my mind. if it even has a purpose is (within itself) a case. no evidence, no witnesses, just one withered, beating heart to raise the question.

 in a way, i find it filthy. feelings which could only be described as attraction towards an unaware, innocent mind. still, the only one who can rise to my own level of intellect. a lose-lose situation, you're either better, or we're the same. both would be a pain. things would seem so much easier if the one who's fallen deep wasn't me. it'd make it so much easier to put on a mask of disgust but be internally swooning. it'd make it much less humiliating to be awake at night, breathless and sweaty, practically screaming at the very idea of even your fingertip brushing lightly against my bare skin. it'd highly decrease my pain when every time i banged my head against a wall knowing i'm bound to die, you're most likely to make it out alive. it'd make things too easy to say i love you, knowing that you feel the same. but, i don't know how i would feel if things were really that way. better? worse? manipulative? your oblivious nature's made everything clear. and so, my emotions stayed bottled.  _one could only hope they'll stay that way._  

despite all those times i've waited outside for you in the harshest of rainstorms, down on one knee with bundles of flowers in beautiful shades of florescent colors, bonded together a cleanly cut, maroon silk ribbon, you never seem to notice. not even with a rejection. instead, you walk past me, pretending to be a happy couple with a shell of a girl who is no longer here. you talk of her as if she was your lover, as if you had known each other for years, and have always been there for one another. and all i can do is shake my head of fake boredom and bite my tongue. let words of love confessions sit on it, until i can eventually bare to swallow them back down. each night in my dreams, i paint the prettiest pictures of you and i. watching you as you interlock our hands and tell me that i'm the only one who has mattered. you'd get us as close as possible and tell me that i've made everything worth it, that i've given you everything you needed to move on from each tragedy. despite our forbidden feelings, you didn't seem to mind. you weren't disgusted in the slightest. i'd wake up, the slightest bit of hope in the back of my mind. only to have it instantly shattered once you talk. 

you describe her features as if she were a doll, sculpted and professionally made to be perfect. not a blemish, bruise, freckle out of place. yet, even her name sounds nauseating to me. every one of her features appeared so sickly. her skin looked infected, so pale it looked dead. her locks were so filthy, practically dripping in grease. her structure was horrid, back always slightly slanted, no matter how upright she attempted to stand. so imperfect, still you seem to find no flaws. a goddess you worship, a flawless human being in your eyes. i can't understand. i'll never understand? perhaps that's just how it's meant to be? and i'll continue waiting until i get something. a kiss, a kick in the stomach, the sweet embrace of death. if she was never alive, would you love me instead? show me just the amount of affection you show her?  _did it ever even matter?_

this  _heart_. heart, heart, heart. the heart that you stole right out of my chest from the very first time you looked at me. a defected organ, a rusted gizmo. everything you do, digging your nails into my skin and ripping it apart, digging past the cages of my ribs just to keep taking scraps of it. slowly, slowly, i watch you devour it in front of my eyes. and even when there's nothing left, you keep eating into me, shredding into my lungs until air does nothing but escape, rearranging my guts with bite-marks inside them. smash at my kneecaps until they shatter, falling to my knees, gouging my eyes straight out of there sockets and gripping them tight until they swell up so much, they'd make for perfect mirrors. yet, the pain is all euphoric to me. i embrace your every movement as you eat me away, hoping with the slightest chance that you might just let me eat you one day. unaware of your doings. even with the bloodstains left on your palms, tiny pieces of what remained deep within your fingernails, with the metallic organ taste left on your tongue, you don't notice.  _you never notice._  

i envy your tactics of manipulation, if only they worked on you. how i long to taste your innards as you tasted mine, stole them from me as i long for more pain. if we could both steal each others hearts, then my body would be okay feeling empty. but because yours is still beating, the pain becomes too much. revenge, a possibility. an obvious plot, knowing she ate you like you eat me. does it fill your hollow insides? is it intentional? you know, i'm not one for scraps, i'd prefer to have you fresh. i want your heart to myself, i don't want her saliva on the same heart i wish to devour. i don't care for the bits that she's touched, i'd rather just have it all to myself. i'd rather have you to myself knowing your heart isn't set for a dead girl, i wish she wouldn't have touched it  _at all_. 

the  _sick_. sick, sick, sick. the sick pranks that always fail to work,  _time is merely wasted_. the sick feeling of wasting time with mysteries that prove unsolvable,  _frustration's an addiction, too._  the sick melodies of broken pianos playing the same song, over, over, the chorus never comes,  _even pretty things become moldy._ no matter how many hours i could spend banging my fists on each key, attempting to cram each key into my brain, i could never play a melody so soft as yours. i could never sit pretty, eyes closed as my fingers gently pressed each key, notes softly echoing off paper-thin walls.

 i could only dream of singing a song that made you want to love me. i could only think of a world were your melody wasn't tempting enough to que me in. but it was, and that's why i keep on listening each time you play it. and even with her broken piano, insides smashed, each edge is nothing more than broken wood with chipped paint, you're drawn to it. her notes that screech with each press and melodies in two different octaves. you still find beauty in things that aren't pretty. you don't hold yourself at any standards, you fail to see your superior. superior to them, superior to her, superior to me, even me. 

me who leads a group of unloved, worthless bodies, me who masks them behind fake smiles and plastic vanity to cloak the faces of children who weep over empty hearts and broken souls. me, a self-proclaimed leader, a ring-master who's no better than his acts. masks and scarfs and baggy leather coats, hiding each handprint, each slit, each and every single tear. thieves lacing their tones with fake confidence,  _what else would cowards use?_ carefree, only hidden by so much and all we had were lies and flimsy masks. and still, i encouraging it all. 

the lies, the pranks, the gags, they're all harmless. but, it's pathetic. we were pathetic. and that's why we had vowed to claim it all as a joke. pathetic, harmless, nobody's actions or words meant anything. and in the end, it's all just jokes. our truths, oaths, vows, promises, in the end were just words. just sentences with voices, no one thought it mattered. saddening, desperate for any communication at all. even with people who you've come to trust, just because they've sworn not to run away. a ring of hypocrisy, and i still encouraged it all. just to feel a part of something.

 to become  _that_  inspiring hero, hastily gluing together kids who were nothing more than broken shards before. the pieces don't fit, they're not even close. but they make  _something._ and, in the end, that is all that matters to me. and though i'm just a poor man, leading a hoard of rats, eating out of trashcans and getting yelled at by cops for sleeping around wherever best suites me, it's still better than nothing.  _it'll always be better than nothing_. a leader who should submit to no power, no authority is greater than my own. yet, your physical appearance alone is enough to force me into surrender. checkerboard patterns and uneasy smiles, dissolving into mist as soon as i try to remember what is was like to hold an entire universe in my palms. all war put on hold, strangled by a force that i was certain could never affect me. removed of my crown, and stripped of all clothes, alas my control has been lost.  _all thanks to love._

bounded with chains, a leader now docile, weak at the knees with each attempt to stand. slaving away each moment, while trying to break free of chains that are melted to my body. all because of you. if only we could rule this world together. the perfect balance of right and wrong, good and evil, crimes and justice. two bodies becoming one, two souls finally seeing alike. all just a fantasy. foolish, to fall so hard and fast for a heart that's set for someone else, one that's fallen so deep that it's become impossible to retrieve. 

a toxic reaction, paralyzed and begging for someone to hear my internal screaming. for someone other than her ghost to loosely wrap their arms around me and say 'you really aren't alone'. just someone to listen, to open up a locked door and let tears roll down, let screams run free until my vocal cords snap beyond repair. just once, without claiming it's an act. just let me tell you everything that i've tried so desperately to hide, knowing that if i didn't, i'd be left in nothing but my own ruins. knowing that you feel the same, but not for me. but for her, it's always for her.     

she's  _dead_. dead, dead, dead, yet, that doesn't seem to stop you from loving her.    


**Author's Note:**

> i worked way too hard on this, wtf. two months????? to finish up this dumbass thing. yikes. also, uh, psa; kokichi is a really good character to write angst/edgy, emo shit for because he's such a fucking gross dumbass, lmao i hate him. FUCK kokichi gang


End file.
